“West End Boy” by Robin Hall

After the meal we headed back to the Groucho Club. We were a few drinks in now. We went upstairs and had some cocaine in the restroom . . .

“M” by Iva Ticic

She ran up to me kind of sideways, half willing herself to approach me and half strangely drawn to me. Even from across the room, she yelled out for all to hear:

“Why did you come?!” . . .

“Murder at the Apthorp” by E.B. Miele

Mid-eighties Manhattan, when the weird were weirder, the dirty dirtier, and neon orange tits pulsed the heart of Times Square. When hookers in hot pants and platforms sneered at the down-and-outers on 96th and Broadway, and even the cushiest berth, like the Apthorp, with its locked gates and classy facade, hid horror . . .

“8 Up” by Mori Glaser

Inkspot Hurricane’s eyes light up when I walk in. We go way back—I used to play music to his poetry on the folk scene. He was a slight man with a big voice, called Inkspot after the singing group, good name for a poet. I don’t recall how Hurricane came about . . .

“Aziz’s Story of the Journalist Nazir ” by William J. Jackson

When an open window suddenly slams shut, it shocks me . . .

“Daddy” by Valda Moore

It’s eleven o’clock in the morning but dark as night . . .

“Special K” by Siggy Buckley

Scared out of my mind
Heart thumping
Chilled to the bone under layers of blankets
In my surgical gown and silly cap
I wait to be knocked out by ketamine . . .

“For Me” by Stephanie Laterza

My son Martin is still learning to grasp the concepts of you and me . . .